A Different Path
by InnocentGuilt
Summary: What if King hadn't been rescued by Abigail? What would life for him be like if the Talos Clan had still awoken Drake? A series of interconnected one-shots. AU, Slash, language
1. The Temptress

The human girl, the one who had nearly turned him into a vampire-kabob tonight; there was something…familiar about her. It was as if she belonged to a distant dream about a life he had never lived. She reminded him of false safety, broken hearts, and promises unfulfilled with happiness managing to still weave through everything despite the letdown she obviously was. The little red-haired bitch painted vague pictures of his life before the sweet pain, the never-ending hunger, Danica Talos, and his lover, who now laps at the healing wound on his bicep. Mostly she made him think of honey-bees, as odd as that was.

He looked to the monstrous man attending the all but non-existent wound on his upper arm, particularly interested in the clinical almost austere way the procedure was done. His lover didn't remind him of honey-bees. He reminded him of blood, which harked back to his hunger, and ignited a lust low in his gut. The man didn't paint pictures in his mind—though he did paint pictures on his body—and the man sure as hell didn't remind him of happiness. He would admit this was the closest he had been to gaining some sort of contentment, and that was as close to this fabled 'happiness' as he or any of his kind could ever be.

Yet part of him wondered what it could have been like. The dream land that the temptress painted in his head was deceitfully magnificent, warm, and most interestingly unknown. Everything he had here was painfully common. The building he was in, the bed he was on, the vampire working that dangerous mouth over his shoulder, he knew it all like a porn-mag he had read too many times back in his human days. It was like the movie Groundhog Day for him. When he woke he relived the same day over and over again. There was hardly any variation and there hadn't been since the day he was turned. The day his lover had stolen him from Danica had been the highlight of his short life as a vampire.

He wondered idly what would have become of him if he hadn't become a creature that he had once had nightmares about. Would his mother be alive? Would his brother? Would he have still lost his friends and family slowly to a bitch that got off on seeing him broken, in pain, yelling and chained to the floor as her brother, her bodyguard, a nameless person with no face broke into his body while she watched? Maybe he would have gone to college. Maybe he would have joined with the 'Nightstalkers' and the honey-bee witch who had captivated him with one determined glance that had nearly cost him his insignificant life.

Maybe he would be in a worse position that he was now. He had to admit, being the chosen mate of the father to his kind wasn't terrible. He was cared for, revered by all those who had used him not two years before, and best of all he was content. None of this was proven with this dream life that reminded him now of frosting-covered-shit. Here, though his life was monotonous, he had someone who cared for him as more than a toy, which was as close as his kind could get to love. He had someone who would kill for him, someone who had killed for him. He had someone who worshipped his body damn near every five hours, and god if that wasn't a glorious feeling.

A deep rumbling voice spoke in his ear sending echoes through his body and making him moan appreciatively, "You think too much…especially for a man receiving this much attention."

He turned his head to look into the changing eyes of his master and lover. It would be no use to lie. Drake could smell a lie on a human thirty miles away. Seeing as he was his mate, he would smell it before it was even passed his lips. "The Nightstalker startled me. It's been a while since I had a wound from a mortal's weapon," he said, though his voice was definitely husky from the said attention that Drake was still bestowing on his skin.

The First growled low in his throat and it took all of Hannibal's will-power not to let his eyes roll into his skull. The vampire had such a strong power over him with his vocals alone. "I should kill her for even coming near you," Drake snarled, his meaty hand reaching up to caress the high cheekbone of his smaller framed lover. "I told you, you should have stayed here tonight."

Hannibal gave him a droll stare, feeling his restlessness begin to stir even though they had arrived home less than an hour ago. "I hadn't left this building in a month, Drake," he said heatedly, making sure not to yell, but firmly enough to get his point across. "I need to go out every once in a while. I feel like a prisoner here!"

Drake's jaw muscle flexed irritably and the younger knew he was cursing the fact he had given free will to his mate. The Eldest Vampire had never once lifted his hand for Hannibal's impertinence, unlike Danica and her ilk. A year later, though Hannibal stumbled some times, especially after first waking up, he was mostly comfortable around his master and spoke his mind freely. It really irked his master some times. "I don't think it's necessarily needed that you go with us on hunts though. I'll take you out of this place, but I refuse to let you go on another raid."

"Do I really look that weak to you?" he asked with all seriousness. "Is it something about my face? Do I have that helpless doe glitter in my eye? It must be my high cheekbones…"

Drake cut him off sharply, grabbing the back of his head and forcing his tongue into the other's mouth to cut off any further rant that the child could have. Hannibal turned his body so that he was at a better angle and a more comfortable position, moaning into the elder's mouth as the pleasure that had died down in their short argument flared back to life. Pulling back for only a moment, Drake breathed out impatiently, "You do not look weak. You're just too valuable for me to lose."

Hannibal repressed a sigh as Drake continued his assault on his lips. He supposed that this life—or un-life as it were—was okay. The dream-land that red-haired temptress had put in his mind was only that…a dream-land. Wondering would only make him hate what he had, and what he had was definitely not worth hating.

**A/N: I have a few more of these that I could write. Like have it be multi-one-shot format. I don't know. I just have some other ideas so if ya'll want I'll post more.**

**This is my first Blade fic, so I understand if it's not perfect, but if you could review anyway, that would be awesome.**

**InnocentGuilt**


	2. Hasslehoff

This giant tower was his personal prison. It was a personal prison that he could control these days, but still a prison. Hannibal was limited in his ability to go outside. The daylight was completely out of his range, and had been these last eight years. However, nighttime, where his kind flourished and ruled, he was granted no freedom. As the toy of the Master Vampire, he was watched like a hawk on pain of death. Going outside on his own…nix that lovely idea. Drake was constantly guarding him, and if he wasn't there was a troup of people who had to ensure his safety or die at the bare hands of their maker.

It blew diaper chunks.

He had never had such a freedom, of course. Usually he was incarcerated somehow. When he had been human, his life had revolved around his family and so getting out on his own had been pretty much impossible. His friends had always shrouded around him; his open sexuality had left him a target in high school. And since Danica, he had been more a pet. He had been kept in a cage of some sort. Though, he was freer now—Danica had kept him in an actual cell—he was still in a prison. He was still locked up.

However, he decided if he had to be locked up, he would much rather it be with the priveledges that came with being Drake's pet. Yes…yes, that was nice. Especially when he could, say, walk into a room and demand that Danica:

"Vacate my seat, Poodle."

The rooms attention turned to him, their awkward eyes revering him as a devil or a high figure of authority. He ignored them, his eyes lingering on his old master, who glared at him from the chair that she had made herself cozy in. Her eccentric bangs were teased today and the rest of her hair was done in an intricate weave that she had most likely seen on a runway. She looked…like a mutated spider-monkey that had lost a brawl with a comb. Her golden-blue eyes glanced around the room, looking for any sign of the lord she had resented awakening ever since he had stolen her toy. When she saw no sign of him, she smirked spitefully, "I see no reason to get out of my chair, King."

Lucrezia, a vampire bodygaurd, whom, Hannibal was surprised to say, was actually relatively close to him, snorted. "I see seven good reasons to get up," she snarled, referring to the seven very loyal, very snitchy bodyguards that Drake had placed around his pet.

Danica glared at the female vampire who had addressed her, probably wondering how she had fallen so low on the totem pole. Then, after another quick glance around, she left the seat Hannibal had been refering to, choosing to sit by her older brother and brute friend.

He sat down in the empty chair, murmuring a small thank you and duroatory remark under his breath. Vivicka, a very petite vampire and also Lucrezia's younger sister, draped herself across his side lazily, as if daring any of the vampires opposing Hannibal to get within distance of her. He smiled at her, resisting the urge to shake his head as her hand found his hair. It was a reflex and he knew that he should break himself of it.

The room was quiet, tense. He never exactly made a good impression on most of these vampires unless he was on his knees. Coming in and bossing them around, even after so many months…it had to be salt in the wound.

Looking around briefly he saw no immediate source of entertainment, so he called out his only source of absolute joy in this desolate tower.

"Where's Hasslehoff?" he asked, looking at Vivicka, because she always knew where he was.

She pulled a hand away from his chest and snapped her long fingers, signaling for another insignificant vampire to retrieve his joy. He waited patiently, or as patiently as he could, giving in to the small comfort that Vivicka and Lucrezia gave him. When the nameless, faceless vampire came back with a small cage he all but whooped with joy. He bounced foreward in his seat, jolting Vivicka to an upright position as the henchman put Hasslehoff's cage on the coffee table in front of him.

"Hey, dude. What're ya doin'?" he said in a baby voice, wiggling his finger around in front of the cage door. There was a shuffling noise inside and the viscious, furry creature jumped onto metalwork. Hannibal laughed as did Vivicka, who was no leaning over with him to look inside the cage.

Off in the corner, he heard Danica mutter, "That thing is disgusting."

Hannibal ignored her and, just to spite her, he opened the cage door his viscious, evil…ferret jumped out and onto his arm, scurrying up and over his shoulders to put its two front paw on top of his head. Hasslehoff looked out over the room, his little nose twitching before he hissed at the room and ran down Hannibal's chest and over to Vivicka. The little creature ran up her neck and scurried into her long, blood red hair, causing the petite vampire to shriek with indignance. A few of the other vampires in the room—the ones who didn't have sticks up their ass or a wish for Hannibal to die a painful death—chuckled.

Hannibal reached over to her, gently extracting his pet from her hair before she grabbed him and flung him across the room out of panic. Holding the ferret to his chest he looked at Vivicka's disheveled appearance and said, "Sorry about that."

She didn't glare at him but instead shook her head fondly. "My hair," she said with a small laugh, "He always goes for my hair first."

They looked over to Lucrezia, who was still laughing at her sister's rat-nest hair. She smoothed down her own mahogony hair, her vanity kicking in and the need to look perfect taking over her mind. Hannibal was surprised that she didn't whip a mirror out of nowhere to stare at her appearance. That was often what Danica had done if she thought her pristine appearance had been tousled. In fact, chancing a quick glance at her, that was precisely what she was doing.

The vindictive bitch caught his eye and she sneered at him, snapping her compact shut. Immediately he looked back down at Hasslehoff, feeling his heart race and his skin crawl in that old familiar way. The 

ferret crawled up his arm and settled around his neck, sniffing his ear and making that little chirping noise comfortingly.

Maybe it was better if he stayed in his room.

**A/N: This is the second installment. I have a few more in my mind. Just to warn, a few of these may not be about Hannibal, but since he was my favorite character most of them will be. It's just I watched a lot of the behind the scenes of Blade: Trinity and there are some things that I want to touch on Blade and Abby. **

**Tell me if you're enjoying this. I know this fandom isn't that popular, but if you could just drop me a line saying you don't mind reading this, that would be great. Thanks guys.**

**InnocentGuilt**


	3. Restless

Hannibal wandered into 'his' room, where his television, game stations, and DVD's were all located. Drake didn't particularly care for all of his contraptions. He felt it showed just how far the human race had fallen from his times. Watching human beings' live in a small box was a disgusting display of masochism, he often declared. Hannibal paid him no mind. He liked his contraptions. They took him to a different world when he couldn't even leave the tower.

Drake always proclaimed that he could read, but his patience with written words was nil and the time it took for him to truly get into a story was longer than he wanted when all he desired was to escape this hell he lived in if only for a moment. So he made his escape into games and movies. Romance movies normally, because he found those were the only ones that gave him a taste of what the world was like anymore. He didn't like fantasy movies; he lived in a fantasy world. War movies were all stationed in the past, a place where he had never lived, but most of the other vampires here had, and took great pleasure in reveling in the torment they wrought.

Romance movies and…featuring from his life as a human, horror films. The adrenaline rush it used to give him was of course nothing now that he was a vampire. His seven years with Danica had cured him of his fear of what was on the screen, showing him that real life was so much worse. But the films, the films gave something back to him. The people in those movies were often prisoners too. He found common ground with their incarceration, and he could relate to the pain the people in the movies felt. Often he would have phantom pains from his time as Danica's fuck toy…and those were more of a reminder that he was indeed alive than the slow decayed beat of his heart.

For video games he often found release in shooting games. Man that was a great pressure release. He would simply imagine his old 'family's faces superimposed over all of his victims. Danica was his most used hallucination during video games. God, he hated that malignant bitch. Killing her over and over and over, it made him feel like he had control if only in this little room where only he and Hasslehoff ever came for any duration of time.

Today however, his room gave him no satisfaction. He felt restless. His mind wouldn't settle for being taken to another place via video games or movies. He walked around his 'room', Hasslehoff resting on his shoulder, looking for something anything to take the absolute edginess away from him.

Eventually deciding there was nothing in his collection of boredom killing that would take away this restlessness, he exited his room. Vivicka and Lucrezia were in the gathering room, speaking to each other animatedly, or animatedly for vampires who had been just as bored as he for the last eighty years of their life. Both turned towards him upon his entering, his state of unease hitting their senses immediately.

"What's the matter?" Lucrezia asked, her earthy red-brown eyes following his every jerky movement. She looked generally worried for him, but part of him, the part that still lived solely as Danica's pet reduced that to her boredom. She wanted something different in her life, she didn't actually care about whether or not something was aggravating Hannibal.

That being the belief in his mind, he ignored her question. He wasn't going to be someone's entertainment. He wasn't going to be the clown. "Where's Drake?" he asked instead.

Vivicka and she shared a glance with each other before Vivicka answered, "In his quarters." She started to say something else, but Hannibal was already on his way to Drake's room at a rapid pace, Hasslehoff digging his claws into his shoulder to stay balanced.

Drake wasn't in his room when Hannibal entered, though he could hear the shower running and assumed that was where his master would be. He put his ferret in its cage, watching the little white creature for a moment as he scurried through the toys that had been put in there. Then, he danced around, trying to unlace and pull his boots off. With no further inhibitions, clothes be damned, he fell into Drake's monstrous bed, feeling no comfort in it yet still feeling that he needed to be there to calm himself.

There was no need for him to be this frenzied. This particular day held no special importance to him, no good or bad memory. He needed to calm down, to settle down, and to just return to his simple state of just being. He didn't know why he was freaking out so bad, but his mind was staging a miniature rebellion against him. He needed to let go…

He needed…

"You should just give in," Drake said as he entered the room devoid of towel or clothing.

Hannibal stared at him nonplussed.

"I'm trying."


	4. Inability to Love

He wasn't in love with Drake. He didn't even think that vampires could achieve love.

The sex was good. All the ways his body was desecrated, oh, god, it almost made him feel human. Skin against skin, breath mingling, teeth puncturing his skin while he was being thrust into, it made his adrenaline rush. And the things Drake called him…not 'whore,' 'slut,' or 'pretty toy.' He said other things; things that made him feel as if he was valuable despite his purpose in life was to bring pleasure to his master, whoever he or she may be at the time.

And perhaps if he admitted it, the rare moments of time alone with Drake weren't so terrible. Drake often cursed this generation, this century, the vampires of this day and age, who were weakened and useless. He proclaimed that nothing good had become of the world and that it should all perish in a pit of fiery flames. Hannibal often just ate his yogurt and carried on with life. When Hannibal did talk, it was often only for an argument they had rolling on them. Drake was treating him like a prisoner. Hannibal wouldn't let go of his past. Drake needed to let him breathe. Hannibal should do more fulfilling things in his free time, reading being a good start. Rarely did Hannibal actually talk.

Time without Drake was boring, even with Vivicka and Lucrezia there to watch him and entertain him. He always felt as if somehow he should be out wherever Drake happened to be at that moment. It wasn't devotedness to Drake, himself, more as the need to string himself along, prove himself as the good pet even though he hated that term with a passion. He was Drake's. He should be with Drake, and when he wasn't he found himself feeling sort of…lost.

He wasn't in love with Drake. He didn't even really think he was gay, bisexual, asexual, heterosexual, any of that. He was used too much in his past, present, and most likely in his unknowable future. Being used for so long, it made him hate the idea of love, and made the idea of being a pet for the rest of his life a terrible notion, yet one he felt doomed to live in for the rest of his unnaturally long life. Sex was sex. It didn't matter who it was with, male or female. Some sex hurt, some sex was sweet or gentle, but it meant nothing in the end. It was a way to quench a primitive hunger that every species on earth had.

Though a kinder master than Danica was, Drake was still simply that; his master. If he wanted, Drake could chain him up, and he would have to take it. He could refuse to feed Hannibal for days at a time and then throw a child towards him and watch the gore that ensued, just as Danica had. When Drake was angry, Hannibal still felt the urge to back away, especially when the First's face shifted—God, that creeped him out. Though he had never hurt Hannibal, the pet still felt the need to have distance between them any time they weren't fucking.

He could never be happy in this life. No one could, not even the most broken…and he admitted freely; he was damaged beyond repair. His life was lived on a giant leash that gave him free roam over the entire tower, but eventually led back to a bed, and kept him from greener pastures, metaphorically speaking. He had no life, just breaths that he took repeatedly one after the other.

Maybe if he could pretend long enough, he could ultimately trick himself into some sense of contentment. It was highly doubtful. Lucrezia had told him, one night shortly after he had made the transition from Danica's bitch to Drake's, that he could never be as happy as he could have been in his 

human state. He had wanted to hate her for that, to pretend that she was lying to him to push him into a further state of brokenness. She had never lied to him, though, not once in the year he had been Drake's pet. He eventually had to believe that this ominous hole inside him would never leave. He would have to live with this desperation to feel something else besides hollow.

Jesus, what he wouldn't do to smile.

**A/N (for Chapters three and four): I know these are angsty, but I really believe that Hannibal wouldn't be quite as mouthy if he hadn't been rescued by Abigail. He wanted to die in cannon, when Abby rescued him, but if she hadn't and he had become Drake's pet, I believe some of the will to live may have returned. Just my thoughts. **

**I hope this is enjoyable. These last two chapters I feel like I kinda lost Hannibal. I hope that isn't the case. **

**InnocentGuilt**


	5. Whistler

In his desperation to escape the tower, Hannibal had failed to think his plan through completely. Scaling down the side of a building hadn't been so bad, and neither had avoiding the miscreants, but goddamn him if he wasn't freezing his ass off! Cold air whipped around him and seeing as he was only wearing a very thin pair of pants and a t-shirt…not to mention vampires naturally had weak blood circulation, oh yeah; he was a Popsicle. He hadn't wanted to go back and risk getting caught on his second attempt to escape, so he was toughing it, out in the cold on streets that he barely knew despite having lived in this city for eight years.

He hugged his arms around him, trying to gather some warmth into his body, but so far it wasn't working. He swore he could see puffs of breath coming from him, though he knew deep down it wasn't that cold. He passed a few bars and restaurants that seemed to be warm and cozy, but he couldn't risk entering. This city was being overrun with vampires. That meant there was a great chance that he would be recognized—he was after all, the First's pet—and that meant either he would be killed or he would be taken back to his master where unknowable things could happen to him. Drake had made it quite clear that he wasn't to be out on his own.

It suddenly became quite clear to him why he wasn't allowed out on his own as a scream of terror sliced the pseudo peace in the air. Hannibal backed up a few paces, unconsciously. He recognized that sort of scream from the first and only night that Drake had permitted him to go on a hunt with him. A vampire had just been dusted. He stayed put, shock immobilizing him for minutes on end. He only had enough sense to begin moving away when he heard footsteps, the second footfall carrying the clank of metal against cement. He was just about to turn away when the vampire-hunter appeared.

Tallish, with auburn hair, and stormy eyes, she was dressed for combat and looked like that was what she was coming after him for; it was the red-haired temptress from his first hunt. He knew she could tell he was a vampire, just as he could tell she was a hunter. There was a certain stench they both gave off. Again immobilized by fear and curiosity, he watched as she ran towards him, only moving when she produced a fist preceded by a dangerous looking blade.

He jumped back several feet, throwing his hands up in submission and yelling, "Woah! I'm not doing anything! I'm just out for a walk."

"I'm supposed to believe that?" she spat, following after him as he continued walking backwards away from her.

"Let's just talk."

"I'll talk with my fist," she yelled, taking another swing at him when he was in striking distance.

He barely jumped back in time and his t-shirt paid dearly for it. Looking back up at her, he sidestepped just in time to catch her arm and throw her forward, allowing him to be behind her. "I don't have any weapons, and I promise to stay at least a good ten feet away from you," he said, for some reason really wanting to escape death, yet remain close enough to talk with her…maybe that would dismantle the restlessness that had been taking over him. She looked doubtful, but intrigued. It wasn't often that one 

would come across a vampire who wanted nothing to do with a fight. "Look, you can pat me down if you want to," he promised.

"Put your hands up!" she demanded as she took a step towards him. He did as he was told, having the feeling that he would never escape the life of being told what to do. She told him not to move on pain of death, and he believed her and stayed as still as he could while shivering from the cold and the aftermath of the adrenaline rush.

"Easy on the goods!" he almost screeched when she patted down his legs, patting a little harder than necessary on the certain fun parts between his thighs.

The temptress glared up at him but apparently decided he wasn't lying when he said he didn't have any weapons. She stood up again, and put the necessary ten feet between herself and Hannibal. Crossing her arms over her chest she growled out to him, "You'd best keep that ten feet distance! I don't miss often."

"I'll be sure to remember that," the vampire said seriously.

They stood in awkward irony, the vampire and the hunter doing nothing to harm the other. Hannibal had said he wanted to talk with the temptress who had not two months ago sparked memories of a life not lived in his mind. Though they had died down and seeing her again didn't make them spike terribly, they were still there. He wanted to bring them up, but at the same time he didn't want to make him suspect he was crazier than she already believed him to be.

She huffed. "You said you wanted to talk. So talk!"

Startled by her sudden outburst he asked the first thing that came to him mind, something that had been bothering his subconsciously since the day he had seen her, "What's it like…to be on your side?"

She looked at him incredulously, and was it him or did her eyes soften. It was most likely a trick of the light, because her body stance was still the same and her smell hadn't changed at all. When she spoke again, it was with the same amount of disdain that she had used with him earlier, "Probably the same as being on your side, only a lot less mess. Your kind ashing and all. We don't have to deal with blood…bodies…mops."

He gave a weak smile. "You know, we're trying to come up with an efficient solution to that. We're thinking about combining a mop, a wood chipper, and a compressor. You know, cut up bodies, mop up the blood, compress all the small bits into a tiny pea sized cube. I think it has good advantages. Think of what it'll do for the household." She stared at him blankly, and he felt himself shrinking. "The fresh air is getting to my brain…sorry," he amended, scratching the back of his neck.

"You don't go out often?" she asked, seeming curious despite herself.

He met her stormy eyes, and gave a half-laugh. "I sort of escaped tonight actually."

"Escaped?"

"Yeah, like a wayward puppy-dog getting off its leash and running to the neighbor's house. Although, I think that would have been easier than scaling down seven stories…" He felt his ire rising at the fact that even in his own mind he was a pet; he had to escape his master to roam; he was kept on a chain.

"You must be pretty high on the food chain to have to escape from your domain."

He snorted at the irony. "I'm pretty low on the totem pole actually, 'bout as low as you can get without dropping down to familiar."

"You haven't climbed the totem pole well since your induction from familiar to bloodsucker?" she asked bitingly.

He glared up at her. He didn't like that she insinuated that he liked what he was, or had ever wanted to be one. "Trust me, I was never a familiar. I didn't want to be this. I didn't want to be anything. I just wanted to have a bit of fun before going back to the country."

"I didn't think vampires inducted people without having them be familiars."

"Yeah, well humans tend to bleed a lot longer when you cut them with a knife," he said matter-of-factly. "Vampires heal, and by the next night you can start all over again." She stared at him long and hard, obviously not wanting to admit in her mind what had happened to him. Obviously there was a set definition in her mind about what did and didn't happen when one became a vampire. He didn't want to leave a shadow of a doubt in her mind. "I was a sexual party favor for sadists."

Her eyes widened fractionally, her smell changing drastically. "Oh," she muttered, shifting her weight a little as if not knowing what to say anymore. He had shattered her little mind-set. He hadn't wanted to be this…he just was. He was tricked into it and a part of her mind told her that that was wrong. It had to be wrong to her or else some of the people she had killed, the vampires who had fought her for the chance to merely stay alive, were truly innocent. The vicious way she had nearly assaulted him and the cruel words she had said to him…they were nothing, because he had felt much worse…much, much worse.

"Don't pity me," Hannibal sighed dejectedly, "I got myself into it, and I'm out of it now."

She snapped back to attention, yelling, "I don't pity you!"

He gave a half smile. "You forget I can smell most of your mood changes," he said tapping his nose.

She dropped the pretenses, and again they were enveloped in awkward silence. Hannibal stood watching her, wondering what else there was to say, besides his obvious question: if she had moments of a life that wasn't hers when she looked at him. There wasn't much else now that he had shattered her little thinking box. He had nothing else to say, but still, he was reluctant to leave her company.

Suddenly, she asked in a quiet voice, and he wouldn't have been able to hear it if his senses hadn't been so honed in on her, "What's it like…to be on your side?"

He lost eye contact with her, preferring to look down at the ground as he admitted to her in an equally small voice that she probably couldn't hear at all, "I imagine it must be the same as being on yours…only with a lot more emptiness on our behalf." He looked up into her shocked eyes, wondering what must be going through her head. Perhaps the admission of emptiness would help her understand vampires a little better. He didn't care if she continued killing his kind or not, because honestly, they had no reason to live. But if you were going to kill someone, at least know why you're killing them. Should she continue killing them, he didn't want to think of her as a murderer, but as an Angel of Mercy. She was curing the vampires of their restlessness.

He sighed at his romantic take of someone who, no matter which way he sliced it, would remain a killer. She killed therefore she was. He shook his head, feeling the cold even more poignantly, and knowing that he was close to being found missing. "I gotta go before they all come looking for their wayward puppy," he said, already turning back to head towards the tower.

He had only taken three steps when he heard the temptress yell, "What's your name?"

"I'm King," he yelled back, turning around to look at her expectantly.

She smiled sadly, finding irony in the man named 'King' who lived as a pet. "Whistler," she answered his unasked question.

"Thanks for not shooting me."

"You won't be that lucky next time."

He nodded, feeling as if a small insignificant amount of the hole lingering in his chest had been filled. He had helped someone understand a little more about his kind. Vampires weren't necessarily evil…well most of them were, but there were a few poor souls who just got caught up in this hell.

A few poor souls who couldn't escape.

You know, people like him.

**A/N: I don't have much to say here…I liked this one at least…sad face.**

**I hope you liked this one too. **

**InnocentGuilt**


	6. Walk Away Scene

She had stayed in her spot as she watch the vampire named King walk away. She didn't know what to say. She had never realized that those that she killed could perhaps be someone who didn't want the life they lived. Perhaps half of them hadn't wanted that life at all. She had killed all she knew to be a vampire, even those who hadn't attacked her first. Maybe they hadn't wanted that life. Hell, maybe those that had attacked her hadn't wished for the life they had. They had the same build as a human in the basic run of things. She had self-defense built into her. It was a reflex.

Behind her she heard a deep voice say, "You didn't kill him."

She was a little startled as she turned around to face the man, dressed in dark garb with a frown, she swore never left his face. She sighed a little, never taking her eyes off of his sunglasses. "No," she admitted—it would be useless to lie to him when he had obviously seen—"I couldn't."

He scoffed. "Of course not. He told you such a heartfelt story," he sneered at her.

Abigail bowed up at that comment, feeling her anger rising. How dare he imply that she was soft-hearted! She was twenty-one and had killed mercilessly for since she was eighteen! She wasn't soft hearted, but forgive her, she did_ have_ a heart. And it sure as hell wasn't her fault if he didn't!

She opened her mouth to berate him, to tell him off, to call him a cold bastard, but he stopped her, saying, "Forget it. It doesn't matter. Just don't let it happen again."

She had just been cast aside. She couldn't believe it. He wasn't her father. Hell, even her own father hadn't been able to do that. She didn't care that both men had meant more than the world to her even before she had met either of them. They didn't raise her, and she wasn't a child! She couldn't,_ no_, wouldn't let him treat her like he could send her to her room.

But she couldn't think of an argument suitable. He was right. So King had told her a sap story! That didn't mean it was true. Self-preservation would do wonderful things to a human being, let alone a vampire who was all about staying alive. Who's to say he hadn't just fed her bullshit? She wanted to believe that, but there had been something in his eyes, his brown eyes which looked almost human like, not unerring. He hadn't been lying to her. He had been sharing with her.

Still holding his gaze—or what she thought would be his gaze—she asked him quietly, "Have you never met a vampire who didn't want to be a vampire?"

He looked away, surprisingly, towards the alleyway he had been standing in. For the longest time he didn't answer her, too. He seemed to be debating with himself on whether or not he found her question worth answering. "Yes," Blade answered finally. "I have."

Not having expected an answer, Abby asked timidly but accusingly, "What did you do?"

Taking a deep breath, Blade looked at her again and said, "I killed her anyway."

"How…?"

"She was dying anyway, but she said she wanted to see the sun," he rolled his shoulders, as if getting rid of the image of whoever this vampire woman had been. "I took her to see it, and watched as she burst into flames."

Abby ducked her head. "That must have been hard for you."

"Life_ is_ hard," he growled. "Get used to it."

With that he turned away from her with a flurry of his long leather jacket. She stayed in her place, watching yet another man walk away from her tonight. The only thing different was that she would have to follow this man home, knowing a small piece of the puzzle that made him. She would have to understand that even though vampires may not like who they were, they were just that. They were killers. And killers had to pay a price.

She shook her head at the unfairness of this double-standard world where killers were killed by other killers looking to seek justice for those who had been killed.

Blade was right. He was_ always_ right.

Life was terribly hard.


	7. Hannibal's Mother

Ashes.

Only ashes were left. He used to know a house here. He used to know a family here. A mother and her two boys, hard times but fun…worth it. He used to know sunsets here, and a few sunrises. He used to know hope in a fenced backyard that only had charred fence posts and sad remains of a make-shift swing-set left in it. He used to know happiness in a kitchen which now was just burnt outlines of electronics; electronics which were falsely recorded as the source of the fire.

Hannibal knew the truth of his mother's death, and it had nothing to do with an electronic burner shorting and causing a spark that had magically burned down his trailer. It had been Danica. Not her really, it had been her cronies; people sent by her to do this. She had done it to punish him…but she had punished his mother as well. He had been punished for running away from Danica and not remaining her faithful dog. His mother had been punished for giving birth to him.

He remembered the day that Danica had…'set him free.' Part of him knew it was a trick even then. A woman who had bitten him, beaten him, raped him wouldn't let him go, not really. Never really. Never real. But he had been starved and fucked up on drugs that she had given him the night before to make the pain he felt_ more real_, and he had run. He had run straight back to the outskirts of a small town, almost what would be called 'the sticks.' He had been running straight back to his mother's arms, knowing the torment she must have felt when he didn't come back from his trip to the city.

He had hitched most of the way, getting out at gas stops when he thought they were getting too suspicious about him; when they began to realize that they weren't in the car with a human; when they began understanding that Hannibal was a vampire, a demon of their nightmares. He had to sleep one day away in an abandoned tornado shelter, and then he was back on the road, getting closer to his mom.

He was about a mile away from his old house when he felt that old familiar chill go down his back. The animal instincts inside him that told him Danica was there. Trying to hide it, he had gone on. He hoped again. He hoped to be part of a family that loved him, not one that owned him. He had run that last mile home, despite his abused body's protests. He hadn't run, hadn't really moved in months, years even. His legs hurt after a few hundred feet, and his breathing, for what little he did, was ragged. He was tired and starved, but he pushed himself, vowing that if he could be with his mother for one second he would even sink to her level, and drink from the first person he saw after her.

The old trailer complete with fenced in back yard and make-shift swing-set was in view and for just one,_ pure_ moment…he thought he could go home. He thought he could feel her arms around him, holding him to her heart like she had done back when he was just a scared little boy in the night. He thought he could see her smiling face, her glittering eyes, and feel her loving hands against his face. He thought he could be someone's little boy again.

Pushing himself harder, needing to get to her even faster, he was_ almost_ there. A hair's breadth away from the porch, rickety even as a child, and…

_Pain._

He sometimes felt the burn of the fire as the force of it pushed him back to his street. He felt his ribs breaking, his skin rubbing off as he skidded across the asphalt. He could taste the ashes as they fell on him and smell her perfume as Danica kneeled beside his pained, screaming, _crying_ form. And he would always remember his mother's screams as she burned alive inside her house.

The taste of saline tears mixing with ashes on his tongue and the feel of Danica's teeth digging into his skin…

The words she whispered into his ear…

'_Now there's nothing worth leaving me for…'_

The flames dancing before his eyes as one of her henchmen grabbed him by the shoulder and forced him onto his back, further breaking already mending bones…

His mother's screams echoed inside of his head as they raped him in front of her burning house. It dulled the pain of Danica's nails sinking into his chest, of her brother's member choking him, of the broken glass in his skin and the broken heart in his ribcage. They had killed more than his mother that night. They had killed part of him.

His hope was dead now, burned down to ashes and sealed with his own blood.

Nothing they did to him hurt quite the same way after that night. Some of it hurt more, but it was never the same pain, and it didn't stay as painful in his chest. He had nightmares of her face as it burned, melting her skin and muscles off her bones. She screamed for him in each and every one and each day he had them he woke up in a cold sweat and tears he couldn't contain. He woke up begging for her.

Begging for his life to just be a nightmare…one that he could wake up from…

Because one day, he would end up like that house, like his mother…

Ashes.

**A/N: I'm sorry it's been so long since I updated this story. There are multiple factors which go into such a delay, but none of them are good enough. I hope you like this chapter. I know it is horribly short and probably lackluster.**

**InnocentGuilt**


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